


La Haine

by Maesonry



Series: Feral Files [5]
Category: Dead by Daylight (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Attempted Sexual Assault, CLOWN DIES, Clown is a BAD GUY, Fix-It of Sorts, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, I hate the clown I’m not even joking, M/M, No Sexual Assault Occurs, No Smut, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, Trapper is a Good Guy, Whump, Whumptober, also I’m tired of fics where Evan is a bastard, yes he’s a bad guy but he’s not Bad Guy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-22
Updated: 2020-10-22
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:01:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27144214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maesonry/pseuds/Maesonry
Summary: The Clown laughs with a rotten sound, and it wheezes and crackles in the space. It’s been so long since he’s done this; but really, who would stop him here?More people than he could’ve realized.Not every Killer in the Fog is heartless.
Relationships: Evan MacMillan | The Trapper/Jake Park, Kenneth "Jeffrey Hawk" Chase | The Clown/Jake Park, Michael Myers/Jake Park, implied relationships - Relationship
Series: Feral Files [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1680271
Comments: 8
Kudos: 112





	La Haine

**Author's Note:**

> I hate the clown
> 
> Time to murder him for my entertainment and your pleasure
> 
> Be mindful of the tags. No assault occurs in this story, but Clown tries it.

The scream was familiar.

Trapper could place it instantly. Being here, in whatever hungry infinity that the Entity had created, made certain things become engrained. How to set a trap with a single hand. What windows were the best to catch prey. And the sounds the Survivors made as they died.

But this wasn’t the scream of someone dying; Evan knew each sound a person made, from the rattling breaths of pain to the gasping sound a man made as he knew he was about to die. Rare noises, too- a Survivor’s hidden giggle, a gasp of delight, the soft sob of gratefulness at even the smallest act of mercy. This sound was none of these things. 

This sound was…

_A woman’s scream from an alley. Evan stops walking, goes to investigate, and sees a man towering over the girl, his hand down her shirt, another covering her mouth. Instantly, Evan sees red._

The scream of someone being violated. Hunted. 

Trapper was running before he realized it. The ground seemed to thunder under him, the sound of his footsteps slamming into dirt. It was raining across the MacMillan estate, but he didn’t notice, or maybe didn’t care. The trap he had been repairing was left, forgotten on the ground, and he pushed past leaves of trees and fallen scraps of lumber as he tore through the grounds. The scream hadn’t been close, but it had been _close_. And it had been the sound of someone being- hunted. In this place. Here. That shouldn’t have happened here. People were killed and reborn and fed to an eldritch, cruel god, but never this. Even to Evan- even to him, someone who enjoyed watching the Survivors squirm in fear, hearing their dying death rattles… 

Not this. Never this.

Fog began to convalesce in the trees. He kept running. When was the last time he’d run? Sprinted? Years. How long had he been here? Just as long. Something like fear, acidic and burning, rested in his throat. It choked him. It mingled with rage, brutal hatred, and yet, fear that he would be too late. Why?

“No!”

The scream again. Through the Fog. He could place it now, piece out who it was- Park. The saboteur. The silent one. Evan knew him; hated him, in ways. Hated that he continued to try to survive, that he refused to give up, that he sabotaged Evan’s traps and died without even a single scream. This was wrong. It was one thing to have Jake whisper in pain, to hear his last breaths rattle out. It was one thing to watch the Shape stalk the boy, to feel something almost like jealousy. But it was never this sound. It was never this scream. It was never the woman in the alley, now here, now now, now Jake and someone forcing themselves on him, knowing he couldn’t stop them, not here, not ever.

Evan moved faster.

The Fog broke. Wisps of it, touching the bark of trees, echoing over fallen walls and dead grass. Something here was familiar. Old brick, ash in the air. Sally. But she wasn’t here, no mournful and pained screeches coming from impossible spaces. This was hers, but overtaken, encroached upon by rotting painted wood and crackling carnival lights. Music droned through the air. It sounded like an elegy. Like a dirge. The lights flickered, trying to lure him deeper in, a trap set for weaker prey. Not enough to catch a Survivor. The Killer would have had to get frustrated, then. Whoever this was, they would’ve known that soon, learned that their trap wasn’t enough. They would’ve gotten hungry. Desperate. Anyone who set out traps in their own Realm would be desperate, and stupid too. Desperate enough to snatch up a Survivor outside of a Trial.

“No-“

The sound came from the caravan. Evan rushed towards it, his breath thrumming from his throat, roaring. There was laughter; the Killer was laughing. Evan knew that laugh, too, suddenly placed who’s home this was, who could have been daring and desperate enough to make a home in Smithson’s realm.

It was the Clown.

Evan stomped up the rotten stairs of the caravan, and, with all of his strength, slammed the door open. The lock cracked off quietly. The wood splintered where it bounced off the wall. Shards flew through the air, mingling with the motes of dust, the hazy purple gas. It did nothing to obscure the sight of the Clown, hands on Jake’s shoulders, face a twisted grin of mockery and delight. The man was laughing. It was the same man from the alley, mimicked in the expression, the stance. The Clown looked up at the intrusion. And Evan roared.

There was no time for words. Evan simply charged forward, throwing his weight behind the action. Slamming into the Clown. The Killer wheezed as Evan shoved him against the wall, still that awful expression, that tinkling laugh. Trapper growled, voice heaving with violence and hatred. Everything awful in him was bubbling up. It made his blood scream.

“I’ll kill you,” Trapper hissed. “Disgusting piece of shit. How about I cut off your prick and make your choke on it instead?”

The Clown still smiled. “Oh… jealous. I can see it…” He inhaled, the sound rattling, bouncing around the walls. “You can have him… I’ll find another. Plenty to go around.”

Like the alley. The same expressions. The woman’s fear. The lecherous grin. And just like before, Evan saw red. He hefted the Clown up, slamming him into the ground and then planting a boot into his neck. Pure hatred dripped from Evan’s expression.

“No.” And Evan pressed down harder, watching the Clown scramble to get any breath in and unable to. “No others. Never. I’ll carve you into pieces so small, the Entity won’t ever bring you back. Do you understand?” The Clown squeaked something like yes. And Evan stared down with cold, frozen hatred. How many had the Clown done this to before? How many? Evan’s boot pressed down harder, harder, until- 

Snap.

And the Clown, for now, was no more.

How many? No more; never again. Evan stepped back, feeling the rage radiate off his shoulders, the murder in his stance. He forced it down. Like what his father had taught him. He bottled it up, held his breath. And froze, as he heard a small, quiet whimper- one that came from…

“Park.” Trapper stared at the Survivor, hunched over against the wall, his face twisted up. His arms were covering his torso like it could protect him. And the sight that would’ve made Evan laugh before, now made his stomach curdle. He paused. He wasn’t the Survivor’s friend; he could’ve just left now. The Clown had been dealt with, and that was the end of the issue, wasn’t it? 

But hadn’t Evan stayed with the woman in the alley, until he knew she was safe? Hadn’t he held her as she cried into his arms?

Trapper would never be that man again. But he could try. He walked forward, watching Jake cringe away, the frozen terror in his eyes that Evan had come to ‘take him for himself’. The fear. Never something that should have been in anyone’s eyes. Evan opened his arms, and in one movement, brought Jake to his chest. Let the Survivor tremble and thrash to try and get away and then, finally, exhaust himself. He slumped against Evan, and in a moment of weakness (or kindness, perhaps), he clutched at Evan’s arms and allowed himself to tremble and break. Silently, quietly. 

And Evan gazed at the Clown’s corpse, and promised that this would never happen again. The Survivors would die, they’d be killed, butchered, maimed- but this would never happen again. 

Never again.

**Author's Note:**

> There will be more chapters. One with the Oni for sure, but after that it’s up in the air. If you have any suggestions I’m all for it


End file.
